Skillz – Murda Gram (Uncle Murda Diss)

[Intro]
Motherfuckers want to kill me but ain’t got the heart
So I picked the mic back up for this walk in the park
And I don’t want credit for this, this ain’t nothin’
I just answerin’ a nigga that kept pressin’ my buttons
Uncle Murda, what’s all the games about?
Nigga, keep my fucking name out your brown-ass mouth
Clark Kent, your man about to hold this L
So roll some weed I got a story to tell, listen

[Verse]
Couple years ago I’m up in AC
I get a call from Clark Kent and he don’t ever call me
Talkin’ ‘bout he heard your version of my song
He told you, you was bitin’ and you knew that you was wrong
But not for nothing you was tryin to make it better
And trying to reach out to see if we can do it together
I’m like, “Clark, nigga you must be faded
Why the fuck would I collab on some shit that I created? Y’all jaded
If you don’t get the fuck off my phone
And tell that old faced-ass nigga to leave me alone
Get gone. Clark, you know I ain’t that dude
And yeah I fell back on rap but don’t get it confused.”
Shit lit my fuse, you wouldn’t call Hov
And tell him 21 Savage want to do "22 Two’s"
Nigga, would you? The fuck wrong with y’all?
Bitin’ niggas, I could never get along with y’all
A song? Naw, straight curvin’ niggas
I wouldn’t even take a picture with Uncle Murda, nigga
And then you started makin’ ‘em takin’ your little shots
But I ain’t never hear ‘em, they only play ‘em up top
You not worthy, you’re just dirty and thirsty
You make them every year, they never get past Jersey
Nigga stop it, you got Brooklyn lookin’ crazy
Matter-fact, you got Brooklyn lookin’ lazy
I got cases in Virginia, bodies in D.C
You got to think B.I.G. if you wanna come for me
And I’m still VA, and I’m still that nigga
Still M-A-D, where your skills at nigga?
I heard you got popped and you ain’t peel that nigga
Whoever told you to change your name, you should kill that nigga
Lenny Grant, I can’t leave that alone
That shit read like it on the side of a funeral home
Ladies and gents, this nigga gettin’ washed and rinsed
Now if you a junior then that name makes sense
Respect to your dad, that’s the least I can do
Actually, umm, naw, fuck him too
Now how a Stan going to come for the man?
Don’t hide your hand, you wanted to be a wrap-up fan
I ain’t Tweetin’, I ain’t leavin’ the ‘Gram
I’m Pusha Ting, remindin’ these niggas who the fuck I am, damn
Reminding you on who the fuck you are
You a comedian, we don’t come to you for bars
We straight, on top of that you fake
Nigga, you signed to G-Unit ten years too late
And what I’m ‘bout to say might piss New York off
But you one of the reasons that New York soft
A worker who could never be a New York boss
Smack that dirty fitted off your head, New York lost
Nigga, dead-ass son, I’m not the one
I heard back in your past you used to bust your gun
I give a fuck, nigga, I don’t care, have a seat, here’s a chair
No love over here, yeah, this the future
Now who the fuck get shot and make a tape called respect the shooter, huh
You a adlibber but that’s all you do
I can name 20 Brooklyn rappers more relevant than you
So stop fuckin’ with us, I go with Kane, B.I.G. and Jay, but that’s obvious
Buckshot, Tek and Steele, Rock and Ruck
Mos Def, Kweli, Masta Ace, Fabolous
Foxy, umm, Lil Kim and Cease
Skyzoo, Torae, oh Joell Ortiz
I’m with Joey BADA$$, ask AZ
M.O.P. would have told you you shouldn’t fuck with me
You sendin’ DMs like a thirty chick
And got mad when I asked your dirty-ass, “Who this?”
And you can guntalk all day, that’s yours
But you ain’t seein’ me with these goddamn bars
You’ll never say you took me
Before that happens, Young M.A. will give you some pussy
Nigga, you kept pushin’ so I had to play
But this type of shit happens everyday
And when you see me, you know what I’ma say
I was spreadin’ love, it’s the Virginia way, nigga